


A Study in Time

by Sassgaardian (LokiOfSassgaard)



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Plotbunnies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 13:42:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30056364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokiOfSassgaard/pseuds/Sassgaardian
Summary: Some ancient plotbunny I found just now.
Kudos: 2





	A Study in Time

**Author's Note:**

> no idea what was going on with this one. Got about 600 words in and ran out of steam. Posting it anyway cuz yolo I guess

Just another day at 221b Baker Street. Just another sulking consulting detective lying on the floor of the sitting room, firing a crossbow at the books on the shelves by the fire place.

John briefly considered the possibility of going mad. It might make living with Sherlock Holmes a far sight easier, at any rate.

“Bored?” asked John as he walked into the sitting room to fetch what remained of the newspaper.

“Bored,” confirmed Sherlock. He fired another bolt, hitting the spine of one of the various volumes of the Encyclopaedia Britannica.

“So go do something, instead of abusing property which I’m fairly sure isn’t exclusively yours.” John took the paper to the kitchen, trying to ignore the bolt that bounced off the floor near his feet.

“Can’t,” Sherlock said. “Too busy being bored.”

“That’s nice,” John said.

Yes, it definitely seemed like a fine day for going mad.

John took hi s time in brewing the tea and making toast, taking some of each out for Sherlock and setting it on the floor where his flatmate could reach it, and likely make a mess with it. After fetching up his own tea and toast, John took it and the newspaper to the chair that had become his and settled in for a morning that would hopefully be free of any explosions.

“What about those disappearances Lestrade keeps asking about?” he asked after a moment. “Paper says there’s been another one.”

“There hasn’t,” Sherlock insisted. “Just another person who got fed up with life and swanned off to Brighton or Cardiff or whatever. People have been doing it for centuries.”

John kept reading the article. “How do you know?” he asked. “Says here that it’s the eighth person this year to vanish without a trace. No contact with friends or family or anything. Just… gone. You don’t see a connection in that?”

Sherlock tossed his crossbow down onto the floor. “Nope,” he said. “I see eight completely legal and capable adults who got fed up with their boring jobs. I’d disappear too, if someone made me work in some dreadfully boring office somewhere.”

“Not taking the case then?” asked John.

“No.”

John drank some of his tea and finished reading the article. He agreed with Sherlock on the matter, and knew that Sherlock was aware of this, but the man had been lying on the floor for two days and had refused to move for anything. More than once, John had considered testing this theory, but he couldn’t find anywhere that would sell him enough snakes or flesh-eating beetles to place in Sherlock’s immediate vicinity.

Easier to just let him sulk on the floor and send him to a chiropractor when he finally decided to return to a vertical state.

They sat in a comfortable silence for just a few moments longer before the sound of heavy feet on the stairs invaded the relative calm of t he flat.

“No!” Sherlock shouted.

The door opened and Lestrade gave him a mildly quizzical look. “I wasn’t even in the door yet,” he said.

“Answer’s still no,” said Sherlock. “Your disappearances aren’t connected, and I’m not interested.”

Lestrade sighed, doing his best at looking put out, but the man really was a terrible actor. “Right,” he said. “Fine. But you know how they never leave a note? This one did.”

Sherlock sat up suddenly, the glare he shot the inspector otherwise hampered by the look of complete discomfort that came with every vertebrae in his spine cracking quite loudly.

Lestrade blinked.

“Two days,” John said, answering the question that hadn’t been asked. He folded the newspaper and set it aside. “Should we just meet you downstairs?”

**Author's Note:**

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